Chapter 265

There was no mess like this mess.

People shoved one another. One construction worker, pushed around by the crowd, fell and rolled toward Encrid. He curled into himself, clutching his head in desperation—just trying to survive.

‘Whoosh!’

“Shut it and move!”

A few patrol soldiers swung their spears, shouting angrily beyond the swarm of people.

Encrid’s senses were sharper than ever.

That heightened focus combined with raw tension honed his awareness like a finely whetted blade.

He remembered how he took down the centaur leader—
Everything around him felt within reach. He could see exactly how to use it, where to step, what to do.

So Encrid stood still.

Eyes half-open, breathing calmly, motionless.

“Captain?”

Krys called out uneasily.

Besides the worker rolling across the ground, a middle-aged woman and a small child had also been knocked down in the chaos.

Everyone nearby avoided Encrid, not wanting to end up catching a stray blade—so they instinctively backed away.

That left the fallen worker, the woman, and the child hovering within the cleared space around Encrid.

Three stood inside that natural void.

The child was pale, trembling. His sleeve had been torn, and blood dripped from his elbow—scraped raw from the fall.

“He’s hurt,” Krys muttered after spotting the injury.

Still, he didn’t move. If it had been a girl, maybe—but it was a boy. Krys knew now wasn’t the time for rash actions.

He wasn’t much of a fighter, but he knew his job.
Now was the time to trust the captain and stay put.

The boy, head lowered, didn’t cry—he only looked around with frightened eyes.

Encrid silently drew in a breath, then threw the dart he’d been holding.

His arm moved so fast it was nearly invisible. A blur, a slash of air—and the dart had already flown.

It aimed for the worker’s thigh.

The man twisted his ankle and dodged.

The dart grazed the thick fabric of his pants and stuck in the ground.

It could’ve looked like luck—but was it?

That instinctive, reflexive dodge was as good as a confession.

Despite the sudden attack, the worker didn’t flinch. Instead, he flicked his hands—

Six darts flew from them.

Three targeted Encrid’s chest and stomach.
Three went for Krys’s forehead, chest, and thigh.

A feint.

Before they even flew, Encrid’s left hand was already in motion. His gladius swept—

‘Clangclangclangclangclangclang!’

All six darts bounced off into the air, useless.

Just then—

The boy behind him suddenly thrust a blade forward.

No one had noticed when he got so close. His steps had been silent, swift.

Where did that shortsword even come from, hidden in such a small body?

He gripped it in both hands and stabbed with all his strength. It was fast—merciless—striking for an opening.

As Encrid knocked away the darts, he spun his body smoothly.

As if he’d anticipated the sneak attack.

He turned and brought up his sword—meeting the shortsword perfectly. ‘Ting!’ The blade clashed, and the shorter weapon was pushed aside. Encrid’s gladius struck the boy square in the chest.

‘Whump!’

The child must’ve worn sturdy leather armor underneath—it didn’t cut easily.

But just because the strike was smooth didn’t mean it lacked power.

Pushing the shortsword away and slamming forward in one motion—
The boy’s chest caved in.

Encrid’s strength was now such that even a glancing blow was enough to deliver fatal force.

“Guh—”

The boy coughed violently.

Even so, he reached into his coat. Persistent. But he would never get the chance.

A small panther darted forward, swung its forepaw, and slammed it into his chest.

‘Crunch!’

Bones shattered.

The child choked and fell still.

One blow had broken his wrist; the next crushed his chest.

With his hand still in his coat—he died.

And then—

“You sons of bitches.”

Finally, one assassin spoke. A woman disguised as a noble lady.

Encrid had already moved. Or rather, he’d finished moving.

Dart deflected.
Sneak attacker crushed.
Right hand thrust forward.

All in a single breath.

The direction his hand pointed—toward the worker who threw the darts.

Just as the man was pulling something from his coat, a knife slammed into his forehead.

His head jerked back violently—then bowed forward as he collapsed to his knees.

Dead on the spot.

“What was that?”

Encrid finally answered the woman’s curse. The well-dressed noblewoman threw something at her feet—

‘Pop!’

A smoke bomb exploded, and a white haze spread across the area.

“Esther.”

Encrid said only that—and left Krys in her care.

He listened closely.

Relying on [Sixth Sense] and hearing, he tracked movement.

They were fleeing—moving fast, and not alone.

‘How many came?’

He was suddenly reminded of the half-elf assassin who once gifted him a [Whistle Dagger].

These enemies, too, likely carried hidden weapons, techniques, or tools made for killing.

Back then, he’d seen countless todays through repetition.

But today—he was confident.

He’d gauged their level and understood his own.

And these weren’t the kind to just walk away.

He wasn’t the type to let go of someone who came at him with a blade, either.

So Encrid moved immediately.

“Krys, handle the aftermath.”

That was all he said.

“Huh?”

A dazed reply came from behind, but that big-eyed guy would figure it out. His head worked fast.

Encrid chased after the assassins.

—

‘Handle the aftermath? Me?’

Krys stood dazed in the middle of the smoky market.

‘Are the assassins all gone?’

One had targeted him with a dart, hadn’t they?

The wind started clearing the smoke. It didn’t seem poisonous.

‘If it were poisoned, this wouldn’t be over so easily.’

“Shit! Everyone shut the hell up and get down!”

Uncontrolled crowds were as dangerous as rioters—and rioters needed force.

A patrol soldier swung his spear shaft and smacked someone in the head—

‘Crack!’

Blood splattered. The man staggered sideways, screaming.

“Urgh!”

Chaos reigned.

But patrol soldiers knew what to do.

Marcus had drilled it into them—order and control were vital.

Assassination? Ambush? Chaos here?

If they fumbled this, they’d all be dead.

‘That’s how it should be.’

So the soldiers would handle the mess.

Krys glanced around, working through what he had to do.

He spotted the dead “child.”

Upon closer inspection—it wasn’t a child. The face was worn, wrinkled at the eyes and lips.

Same for the hunchback. All of them had odd, distinctive appearances.

Krys looked down at the shortsword.

It gleamed unnaturally—coated in something.

‘Poison.’

He’d suspected that already.

So what did the Black Blade want?

‘Coercion.’

And when that failed—threats.

Which led to this ambush on the way home.

They had probably realized something after hiring mercs:

‘Swallow Blade and his merc band failed?’

But would they give up?

‘If it were me?’

Never. If they retreated now, the name “Black Blade” would be a joke.

This was them saying:
You thought we’d let you go?

He hadn’t expected them to resort to an assassination on this scale.

Krys scratched his head, glancing at the now-calmer surroundings.

“Esther, I’m counting on you,” he muttered.

If any assassins were still here, he was a dead man.

But he couldn’t leave—Encrid told him to handle things.

And based on what he’d seen, there were probably no assassins left.

Their target had been Encrid.

If this were an attack on the territory itself, it would’ve been a whole different story.

Massacring royal citizens in a duchy?

That would draw out the knight orders. Even if they were busy, they’d find time to gut a few thieves.

‘They wanted to avoid that. Keep things clean.’

Just target one man.

That’s what this ambush was. A lure.

And Encrid definitely knew that.

‘No way he didn’t.’

“Alright, everyone calm down. Hey, don’t step on people’s stuff. Merchants, grab your goods. Workers, huddle over there and keep your heads down. You, patrol soldier—what unit?”

“2nd Company, 2nd Platoon, sir!”

Benzense’s subordinates, then.

Krys nodded and addressed the two nearby.

“Stop hitting people and start cleaning up.”

With patrol soldiers and Krys’s leadership, the situation was quickly brought under control.

“My stuff… my stuff’s all ruined…”

“You were selling bundles of wooden arrows. Relax. Only a few got snapped.”

“You sure?”

The merchant who’d been crying like the world ended suddenly changed expression.

Krys shut down the shameless ones with words and consoled those who had suffered real losses.

“You know what’s great about our captain? He’s got more gold than he knows what to do with. Can’t replace your goods, but we’ve got work—real work. Couple months as a laborer will earn you more than whatever you were selling here.”

Krys turned crisis into opportunity.

They had roads to widen, towers to build.

Still had to finish the moat, maybe even build a drawbridge.

They’d need every hand they could get—and they had plenty of krona to spare.

“Alright! Anyone with construction experience, step forward!”

Just like that, he turned the chaos into a job fair.

The people adjusted quickly.

Attack? Smoke? Cold? Krona is krona.

Two soldiers gathered the bodies, and Krys raised his voice.

“Who here’s done some building? Hands up!”

—

When krona can’t buy them off,
And sweet talk doesn’t work,
When someone blocks your way—
Just hand a blade to a passing thug.

“Go stab him.”

Simple and effective.

That’s what the Black Blade did.

Encrid knew it was a trap.

As he ran, he’d already dodged over five volleys of darts.

And then—

‘Whistle!’

A familiar sound.

A [Whistle Dagger]?

Those weren’t common among assassins.

Encrid immediately pinpointed the location.

He wasn’t good at sneaking—so he just charged.

Easy target.

The assassins threw all sorts of things at him.

He batted every projectile aside with the sword in his left hand, proving it worked as a shield too.

Some assassins panicked.

‘What the hell is that guy?’
‘Weren’t his companions the problem?’
‘Why can’t we even graze him?’

Everything was poisoned. Even a scratch would be lethal.

But he didn’t even get scratched.

He even caught a [Whistle Dagger] out of the air and tucked it away.

It was the only unpoisoned weapon—and somehow he knew.

How the hell did he snatch that midair?

Even the best assassins in the Black Blade couldn’t do that.

He deflected bolts mid-run, scanning for hidden enemies—

His eyes locked in on all the places they hid.

Still, the assassins stuck to their planned destination:

The reed field in the northeast of the territory, between the forward base and the main settlement.

The Black Blade didn’t know.

Not really.

They knew Encrid had strong allies—

But they didn’t understand Encrid himself was the real threat.

Misunderstanding is dangerous.

And for them,
Their misjudgment,
Their lack of intel—
Was the same as meeting the Reaper.